


Cupid's Bow

by cybercandy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Community: bandom_meme, Crack, I'm not sorry, Inanimate Objects, Other, crack!fic, it was fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybercandy/pseuds/cybercandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank loves his guitar. Like, really, REALLY, loves his guitar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid's Bow

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt
> 
> http://bandom-meme.dreamwidth.org/5544.html?thread=256680#cmt256680

Frank had always known that there was a bond between them, something special, something more than just a professional relationship. But tonight, in the soft blue stage light, with the fans cheering, sweat dripping down his face and making his t-shirt cling to his body, it suddenly hit him. There was absolutely no doubt about this, he’d never been that certain about something in his life.

_He loved his guitar._

Really, truly loved it. Not just _liked_ it because it was awesome, fit him just right, made him happy when he played it and he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do night after night. No, it was deeper than that, was more than just a superficial feeling. Right at this moment and for all eternity, Frank knew he was madly, deeply in love with his guitar. He wrapped his arms around it as tight as he could, smiling, eyes closed and butterflies in his stomach.

As usual a roadie was waiting to take his guitar off him when he walked off stage and for the first time Frank didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to be separated from his guitar, his love, for just one moment. But the roadie ripped it out of his hands and Ray shuffled Frank along and before Frank could protest it was gone. It felt like someone had ripped his heart out off his body.

Frank tried his best to contribute to the usual post-show conversation, it had been a good night and Gerard was buzzing, even Mikey was showing open signs of enthusiasm, but he just couldn’t follow, couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about while holding on to a can of beer was how cold and lonely his guitar must be, stashed away in a truck with their other instruments and swag. Ray was the first to catch on to Frank’s unusual quietness and leaned over to ask “You ok Frankie?”.

“Yeah, I just, y’know, miss my guitar” Frank muttered. Ray gave him a weird look.

“Dude, you just played the hell out of it for 2 hours and you’ll do the same again tomorrow, sure you can cope with being separated from it for a few hours” Ray pointed out.

“No, you don’t understand” Frank sighed, because, really, Ray didn’t understand. 

“I’m in love my guitar” he added and maybe that came out a bit too loud, because the conversation went quiet and suddenly all eyes were on Frank. 

“Don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too far?” Ray inquired carefully. Frank shook his head.

“No. Really, I think I’ve fallen in love with my guitar” Frank replied stubbornly.

Mikey rolled his eyes. Gerard looked lost in thought for a few minutes and mused “I think there’s a sexual fixation called objectophilia. Like, people who are in love with inanimate objects.” 

Frank gave him a look that he hoped conveyed that what he felt towards his guitar was not a fixation.

“Just sayin’” Gerard added, waving his hands.

They went back to discussing the show, but Frank couldn’t take it, needed to get away from his judgemental bandmates who had absolutely no idea what he was going through. He finished his drink and got up to walk out to the bus and curl up in his bunk. They didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Hell, he couldn’t quite understand it himself. All he knew was that he needed his guitar, wanted her in his arms right now. He wanted to hold her, stroke the soft curves of her body, slide his hand over the long slender neck, run his fingers along the frets, maybe twist the tuning pegs. Frank let his hands wander down his body, popped open the buttons of his jeans and wrapped his fist around his cock, getting himself off fast and rough, then turned over and fell asleep.

Soundcheck the next day was the best thing ever. Finally reunited with his guitar Frank felt happy again, even if Mikey was giving him strange looks and Ray’s eyebrows were hovering dangerously close to his hairline. Letting go of it again when they were done was harder, but he knew he would see her again later. It was like having the first and the second date on the same day. Frank spent the hours until stage time daydreaming, thinking of all the things he would do to her after the show, because there was absolutely no way he would let his guitar out of his sight ever again.

The show was amazing. Frank was on fire, playing like a maniac, swinging his guitar around his body and throwing himself on the floor. He even managed to tenderly stroke it between songs, but that resulted in him getting a boner, so he didn’t try it again. This time when he walked off stage he held on to his guitar for dear life, mumbling “need to practise some chords” when the roadie tried to grab her. Frank didn’t join the others in their dressing room, choosing to walk around the venue instead. He only realised that he had been looking for an empty room when he found one. It was a small dressing room with a tatty sofa in the corner, but it would do. Frank had plans. He wasn’t sure they were entirely legal, but he figured that if they didn’t catch him they couldn’t sue him.

He kicked the door shut and put his guitar down string side up. She looked perfect like that, white and shiny and smooth. Frank couldn’t resist running his fingers over her body, along the curves of the sides, feeling the rough material of the strings. His cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans and Frank palmed himself through the fabric but it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He opened his belt and got his cock out, intending to jerk off while he had some privacy. While _they_ had some privacy.

They.

Frank looked at his guitar then at his cock in his hand. Fuck the law, if there even was one, it would be a shame to waste this opportunity. He flipped his guitar over, shoved his jeans down to his knees and lay down on top of her. Propping himself up on his elbows he gave a hesitant thrust. It wasn’t quite as slick a slide as he’d wanted it to be, but he didn’t have any lube with him. He spit into his hand and fisted his cock, then thrust again and, yes, that was better. Before he knew what he was doing he was rutting against his guitar, precome and sweat making the slide easier. It felt so good, even better than Frank had imagined. It didn’t take long and he was on the edge, eyes closed, head thrown back and panting. A few more thrusts and he shot, come spilling over his belly and across the body of his guitar.

He was slowly coming down, head resting on the neck of the guitar, when he heard someone clear their throat.

Fuck.

Frank jumped up to sit on his knees, holding on to the backrest of the sofa and looked around in panic. The door was still closed, which was reassuring, and Frank was just about to let out a relieved sigh when he heard the noise again.

“Um... really sorry...” someone said from the far right corner. 

Frank looked around again, squinting to focus and then he saw him. At least he thought it was a him. The thing in the corner was wearing a tiny white loincloth and there was a distinct lack of boobs, so Frank was pretty positive that whatever it was, it was probably male. It was also about as big as his elbow, chubby, had blonde curly hair and was currently looking rather sheepishly.

“Who the fuck...” Frank started, but he didn’t really know where he wanted to go with that.

“Um, hi, I’m so sorry to disturb, um, whatever you were doing” the little guy attempted, then broke off again and looked down at his hands as if they were the most interesting thing he had seen in a while. Frank wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he could see little wings poke over his shoulders. 

_What the hell?_

Frank briefly considered the possibility that his bandmates had spiked his water because surely he couldn’t be seeing this.

“What do you want?” he asked, sounding angrier than he had intended but after all, whatever it was, it was invading a rather private moment.

“I, um, I didn’t mean to, y’know, hit you... my aim’s been a bit off recently, but I’m all better now, and I’m so very sorry for what happened and I’m going to do my best to undo it” the winged guy babbled, then stopped when he realised that Frank was looking at him questioningly.

“Do you know who I am?” he enquired. Frank shook his head.

“Any idea?” he offered then sighed when Frank just continued to gape.

“Nope, man, never seen anything like you before” Frank finally answered, rubbing his eyes just to make sure that he was actually seeing what he was seeing and not just having a conversation with the dirt in the corner. He was also becoming increasingly aware that he was kneeling on the couch with his pants around his knees and his limp cock resting on his thigh, which wasn’t the most dignified position you could be in when dealing with... almost anything, really.

“Small, chubby, wings, bow and arrows?” the little guy made another attempt, stretching his wings slightly and holding up his bow.

“Doesn’t ring any bells. You don’t look like a fairy to me” Frank mumbled while trying to pull up his pants as inconspicuously as possible. Which wasn’t very sneaky at all because he had to get up from the couch and bend down to actually do it, but at least he felt less exposed once he was dressed again.

The little cherub snorted derisively. “I’m not a fairy, you moron. God, kids nowadays have no education. I’m _CUPID_ ” he spat out, then added “the god of desire, affection and erotic love, you dumbass.”

Frank was about to point out that he quite obviously wasn’t the god of tact and that getting insulted by gods, while quite novel, wasn’t exactly how he’d thought his evening might go, but he bit his tongue when he saw his jizz running down the body his guitar. Maybe he shouldn’t point fingers just yet.

“O.K. And what does all of this have to do with me?” Frank asked because so far he couldn’t quite see the connection.

“I can compel mortals to fall in love. By shooting them with my arrows” Cupid explained in what Frank thought was a slightly patronizing tone and held up his tiny bow in affirmation. “And I accidentally hit you and your guitar with one of them. Which wasn’t what I had intended to do. We kinda have rules about acceptable pairings and stuff, y’know.”

“So, you mean, what I’ve been feeling was all fake?” Frank asked flatly.

“Not fake, no, the feelings are completely genuine. It’s just that I got it wrong, wasn’t supposed to hit you. I’m so sorry for all of that. You, um, looked like you had fun, though” he grinned, looking entirely ungodly, and Frank blushed.

“And what are you going to do now?” Frank enquired.

“I have to undo the compulsion” Cupid answered, twisting the bow around in his hands. “Won’t hurt, I promise” he added happily. Frank saw him reach behind his back to grab an arrow, then take aim and let go. The tiny arrow sailed through the air and disappeared straight into Frank’s chest. It didn’t even tickle.

“That was it?” Frank asked with disbelief in his voice. Cupid nodded.

“Takes a few minutes to wear off, but yes, that was it. You’ll be fine in no time. You might want to clean up the, um, mess before you go, though” he remarked. Frank was convinced there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I have to go now, I’ll probably catch you again at some point.”

And with that, and the tiniest of puffs, Cupid was gone, leaving Frank standing in the middle of the room. He still felt a bit woozy, but decidedly less infatuated and a lot more embarrassed. Looking around the room he spotted a few napkins lying on the table and used them to clean up the worst of the mess on his guitar. Outside he heard someone rounding people up for bus call and figured he’d better get going before people started asking questions. He fully expected a few raised eyebrows if Ray was involved and maybe a snicker from Mikey, but just like Vegas, what happened on tour stayed on tour, and what had happened in the last hour was just between him and his guitar. 

And a tiny roman god.


End file.
